The room contains a few dozen living human bodies, each one a big sack of guts and
fluids so highly compressed that it will squirt for a few yards when pierced. Each one is
built around an armature of 206 bones connected to each other by notoriously fault-prone
joints that are given to obnoxious creaking, grinding, and popping noises when they are in
other than pristine condition. This structure is draped with throbbingsteak, inflated with
clenching air sacks, and pierced by a Gordian sewer filled with burbling acid and
compressed gas and asquirt with vile enzymes and solvents produced by the many dark,
gamy nuggets of genetically programmedmeat strung along its length. Slugs of
dissolving food are forced down this sloppy labyrinth by serialized convulsions, decaying
into gas, liquid, and solid matter which must all be regularly vented to the outside world
lest the owner go toxic and drop dead. Spherical, gel-packed cameras swivel in
mucus-greased ball joints. Infinite phalanxes of cilia beat back invading particles,
encapsulate them in goo for later disposal. In each body a centrally located muscle flails
away at an eternal, circulating torrent of pressurized gravy.